


Human Experience.

by Spiralled_Fury



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Reilly-centric, Brooklyn 99 mentioned, Cannot fuckin believe the porn tags when I type 'web', Gen, How. Are. There. So. Few. Tags. For. This., Introspection, Meme, SHIELD, SHIELD Academy, Sick Character, Sickfic, Team as Family, Web Warriors Team as a Family, a bit but, triskelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24790519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiralled_Fury/pseuds/Spiralled_Fury
Summary: Degeneration is a nasty part of Ben's life that he hoped he'd never need to experience.But apparently, he's going to have to deal with it.---Aka, Ben gets sick and has no idea what's happening.
Relationships: Ben Reilly & Flash Thompson, Ben Reilly & Web Warriors Team, Miles Morales & Ben Reilly, Peter Parker & Ben Reilly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Human Experience.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still dead, my life is in shambles, here's a oneshot because ive slid back into this fandom. 
> 
> I'm working on a big project right now, so... You can poke my tumblr for more news on that? [ Right here ](https://spiralled-fury.tumblr.com/)

Ben’s life is in shambles and here’s why.

He went from being a villain, to being actually _liked_ as a person, to being a villain again, to now. 

Which is training with the other Web Warriors, liked as a person, but he’s felt a little... something all day. 

He can’t tell what it is. Peter would call it ‘feeling off’, and Ben supposes that he can agree with that. It’s the fact that he’s sweating a little more and breathing a tiny bit harder, and feels like he has done about the same training level as normal. 

“Hey, Ben!” Flash calls from the side where he’s standing with Miles, who is flopped over the side of the sparring ring. “You wanna go a round or two? I wanna know if I can Bane you.”

Ben scoffs softly. They watched the damn Batman movie less than two days ago, and of course Flash had made a slew of jokes about ‘Bane-ing’ everyone. He had successfully gotten Miles, MJ, and Amadeus to go along with it, resulting in some truly spectacular training room footage, but if Ben is going to end up on SHIELD’s monthly fail compilation, he will be the one _doing_ the Bane-ing, thank you.

“Sure.” He returns, walking over and jumping the railing easily, shoving the uncomfortable ‘off’ feeling down in his chest. He’ll just rest for an extra few hours, it’ll be fine.

* * *

After a fascinatingly long spar that ended up being more of a sloppy wrestling match in the ring (the results of which would be known next month on the fail compilation), Ben goes to take a shower. 

This is no different to any other time he’s finished a training session. 

Ben likes his water burning hot, which is something he discovered after only a few days of staying at SHIELD the first time. Hot water is a wonderful thing, even if only for a few minutes. Showers shouldn’t take long, but long enough to burn the slime and exertion of training off his body. 

There’s nothing different about the practiced series of steps he makes in the shower, except one moment he’s bowed his head under the water to wash the bubbles out of his hair, and the next he’s on his knees on the tile. 

It takes a minute to realize what happened, and remember where he is. He doesn’t remember falling, which is even more terrifying. 

Ben finishes his shower sitting down, then turns the tap off and stays for a while, taking deep, even breaths, trying to figure out what went wrong.

When he stands up, there’s no unsteadiness or break in his movements. He doesn’t even feel the ‘off’ sensation. 

He writes it off as taking one too many Venom sparring hits to the jaw, and doesn’t think about it anymore. 

* * *

Sparring with Peter is always an act of curiosity, Ben has found. 

First off, Ben knows he has so much to learn. He might be better in terms of fight training, but Peter fights like he’s always had to fight; which is to say, he fights like a trained, excellent field agent fused with a rabid back alley boxer. 

So while by physical standards they might be matched, Ben has better training, but Peter has practice and unpredictability on his side. 

It’s very hard to get a pin on how Peter fights because one minute it’s a regular Krav Maga-judo style that Ben _recognizes_ , and the next he’s catching a knee in the ribs because that’s a dirty boxing move and he didn’t expect it. 

So sparring with Peter is a learning curve for Ben. 

But that doesn’t explain why he’s getting his ass beat _so thoroughly_ today. 

Maybe it’s because the lights look weird, and his legs feel odd, like he wants to sit down and not get back up. Maybe it’s got something to do with the headache throbbing behind his eyes, that could help. It hurts, so much.

He feels warm, overly so, but he figures that’s just exertion. Maybe he had a nightmare he didn’t remember, and was exhausted as a result. 

That made sense. 

So he dives and slides under Peter’s next hit, because by God he does not want to be knocked down for the-

And then he’s shoving up from where he’s been unceremoniously splattered on the floor, an ache in his jaw and black spots dancing in his eyes after Peter had just roundhoused him into the dirt. His spider sense hadn’t even blipped.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t think I swung that hard!” Peter’s yelping, hands on his shoulders and back as Ben struggles to figure out where all his limbs are. “Christ, I am so sorry Ben, I didn’t mean to-“

Pulling his hand under his ribs - _that’s where my arm is_ \- Ben grunts out a sharp, “‘s fine.” 

“It’s really not, I’m really sorry!” Peter yelps as Ben pushes up evenly. 

God he feels heavy, like everything is weighing on his entire form. It’s not a hard weight, like when he’s been injured, but more a soft one. Like a weight blanket on his body. He hasn’t had a nightmare that made him feel _this_ bad in a while. “I’m alright, punk.” He grumbles a bit, but offers Peter a smile. “Knocked me.”

Peter sits back a bit on his heels while Ben pushes all the way up and runs a hand over his face. He’s sweating pretty badly, he notes, but only looks at the shine on his hands for a second because Peter’s still in front of him. And now there’s a concerned furrow to his brow. “...You ok?”

“Yeah.” Ben answers, because he is. He’s likely just growing again, probably because synthezoid biology is weird, but he has lost his appetite so maybe he’s just doing something strange. No big deal. 

The look is suspicious, but Peter just shrugs and then stands, offering Ben a hand.

He takes it and pulls himself to standing, then takes a deep breath. An odd dryness is in his throat now. “Can we... take a break for now?” He asks. He knows he’s allowed to ask, but he still feels a bit weird about showing weakness. 

“Of course.” Peter replies immediately, and pats his shoulder. “It’s just about lunch anyway.”

They part ways, and Ben again, ignores the thought of anything being wrong.

* * *

The tickling dryness in his throat stays no matter how much water he drinks. 

It makes him want to cough. 

And when he does, finally, a wracking thing into his elbow, he’s just glad he’s alone in his room, because it’s _hard_. He sounds like he’s ripping his lungs apart with every single cough.

He feels like shit, honestly, but he drinks more water and goes to bed, because he has training in the morning. 

But when Ben wakes up on Thursday to the shriek of his alarm, he comes to the conclusion that Otto must have been wrong and he is degenerating.

Because he figures _this_ is what degeneration has to feel like.

He is hot, burning, and blinking is an activity that reveals the throbbing headache in his skull, so he stops blinking and as a result stops moving. He feels exhausted, his throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper, there is a bone deep ache in his muscles, and he hates his existence. 

Ten minutes. He can take ten minutes. He has never been late a day in his life, today can be his first. Peter’s always talking about ‘normal teenager things’ right? He’s going to skip class. He’s going to go back to sleep. 

Jolting awake two minutes later to his door being pounded on is an experience that Ben is entirely unfamiliar with. 

“Ben! I heard your fucking alarm go off! Peter wants us outside for wind sprint relays!” MJ shouts, because she is mean, and it makes soundwaves go through Ben’s skull like razor wire. 

He apparently, had forgotten why he set his alarm five minutes earlier than hers, that reason being, it didn’t matter who was up and if they were up on time. She’d still yell. 

Ben pushes his hands under him and then shoves upright slowly. The room tips and sways, and he feels something _shift_ in his lungs. 

He coughs into his elbow heavily, and it _hurts_. It hurts so much through his throat, but he doesn’t feel like, as Ghost put it once, ‘his brain is melting’. So from that description and what he knows about degeneration, he figures he has maybe eight hours before it is actually going to hurt him. 

Getting up is exhausting, and he does look like, as one agent has put it, ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.

His face is both pale and flushed, he’s not sweating, but he looks like he’s been working out for six hours already. 

It takes him an extra two minutes to get himself looking presentable, and then into his training gear, because he’s tired. Every time he sits down, it’s like he has to talk to himself about getting up. 

His inner voice sounds vaguely like Peter. It’s really inspirational, but also makes Ben want to punch something. 

Deciding that maybe degeneration is a bad thing, Ben commits himself to going to the infirmary after training. He’ll just talk to... Probably Connors. Connors is smart, he could help. 

Regardless, he has training first. Because Peter wants wind sprints, and wind sprints he will make them do. 

Miles loves wind sprints, but he loves wind sprints because he has the body style for it. MJ loves wind sprints, but she loves cardio. Apparently something about it makes Carnage happy. 

Flash and Amadeus hate wind sprints. This is because Flash is built for long term endurance and massive weight lifting, not short term sprinting, and Amadeus is built like a twig. 

Ben will do pretty much whatever anyone tells him, but he leans more toward Flash and Amadeus’ opinions on wind sprints. 

They get out there, and Ben does his best impression of a rock, leaning on the building with a bottle of water lightly held in his hand. He watches Peter call out run points, watches as Miles slowly pulls ahead of MJ, and watches as the world slowly stops swaying. Tipping his head down until his chin rests on his chest, Ben shuts his eyes.

He opens them again when Miles blows past the last of the relay a solid three seconds ahead of MJ, leaping up and cheering as she laughs, breathless. At least they look like they’re having a good time of it. 

“Flash, Ben!” Peter calls out, and Ben pushes off the building slowly, going up to the start line. He pushes down the weird feeling in his throat, the thudding headache, the heat that’s still running under his skin. With a shake of his head, he’s ready to go. 

Peter shouts for them to go for the first line, and Ben shoots off the line like a bullet, feeling all the power and strength that his body carries.

For all of about two seconds.

And then he’s struggling not to cough, struggling to remember Peter’s calls, struggling to keep up with Flash, and struggling to actually see the lines where he’s supposed to be running. 

He’s on goal number three, or four, he can’t remember, because his vision is filling with black splotches, he’s coughing and it hurts his throat, but it sounds muffled and distant, like he’s stuck his head underwater. 

He doesn’t lift his foot far enough and it catches on the ground, and while Ben tries to fix it, his limbs don’t respond like he wants them to. 

Grass is cold and soft, welcoming against his aching, too-hot body. He has half a second where he can tense his fingers into the clipped leaves, and then the black closes in and Ben can’t find the energy to fight it. 

* * *

He comes to, weak, dizzy, too hot, and exhausted. 

He inhales sharply and manages to open his eyes. It’s blindingly bright, and he finds it hard to tell where he is. The sharp lines and light blanket of the Infirmary bring him into focus, and he tries to look around and figure out how the hell he got here. “Wh’t..?”

“Oh shit, he’s awake!” Miles’ voice comes in, and Ben flinches a bit when his head comes into view in front of the neon-bright fluorescence of an overhead light. “Ben? Ben are you ok?”

“Yes, he’s awake. Speak quietly.” Connors’ voice says, and a shadow comes around the side. Then the overhead light turns down, and Ben groans softly as he relaxes with the ease on his eyes. “Ben?” He says.

It takes a minute for Ben to realize that he is being asked a question. “...Y’h?” He mumbles, bringing his hand up and rubbing across his face clumsily.

Apparently, degeneration means that coordination is at a minimum, and his voice sounds like he’s talking through broken glass.

“How are you feeling?” Connors asks as he prepares some sort of device that Ben really can’t identify because his vision’s blurry. 

Ben shakes his head out slowly, trying to focus. “‘m tired.” He admits. “...Hot.” He says, then coughs a few times into his hand. 

“I could guess that. Open up.” Connors says, and Ben opens his mouth. Whatever Connors shoves in is kinda cold, but he keeps it obediently under his tongue. A thermometer, he realizes.

There’s a few seconds of silence where Ben looks around and realizes the _entirety_ of the Web Warriors are in the room, talking quietly to each other and looking at him occasionally. 

When the thermometer beeps, Connors removes it before scowling, then checking something on the computer. 

Ben takes a deep breath to avoid coughing and finally says, “...How far along in degeneration am I?” 

Silence in the room. 

He knows that he should be more concerned about this, because it could kill him, but he’s very tired. Literally, he only wants to know how bad it is. His head is pounding and it’s hard to think, but he trusts Peter and Connors. They’ll help him, he knows it.

Every single eye suddenly turns to Connors. 

Connors looks around the group, meeting each of their frightened gazes. Ben sighs softly, looking down.

The concept of degeneration doesn’t scare him, but it scares his team. They are afraid _for_ him, and he hates the idea of _that_. He doesn’t want to make them sad, because they care about him. So no, Ben isn’t afraid of dying. He’s afraid of his poor team being left to deal with it.

And then Connors gives him the most wholly confused, startled look he’s ever seen, and sputters out, “You’re not _degenerating_?!” He says, like _Ben’s_ the idiot. “You have a fever of one-oh-three! You’ve got a flu!”

Ben blinks.

“...Aren’t I a... Synthezoid? And a... Spider-person?” Ben asks, confused and completely lost.

“Ben, we’ve learned from Peter, spider-people can get sick. And _you_ , are quite sick.” Connors says, and then turns around. “You have a bad flu, but you’re not degenerating. You need to _stop pushing yourself_ until you _drop_ , but you’ll be fine.” 

For a while, Ben just stares at Connors, because he can’t believe that something so simple feels _this_ bad. “...It’s... not degeneration?” He asks softly, disbelieving, because his head is throbbing and he feels _drained_ and his throat hurts and it’s as if he has his entire team sitting on him.

“It’s a fever of a hundred and three, a sore throat, and from the way you’re squinting, a pretty bad headache. A bad week, but according to your tests, no degeneration.” Connors explains, and Ben just sighs softly. It’s a weight off his shoulders, even though he still feels like he’s too heavy to move. 

“Oh thank Christ.” MJ gasps breathlessly, pressing a hand to her chest as she turns away a bit. 

Flash’s hand lands on Ben’s ankle, and he nods to Connors with a soft smile. Amadeus sits down on the edge of the bed, and Ben jumps about a foot in the air when Miles latches onto his arm like a limpet. 

Peter walks over with a smile and pats Ben’s shoulder. “You need to tell us when you don’t feel well.”

“Yeah!” Miles snaps, and his arms tighten around Ben’s. “We’re your team!” 

“...I was... going to go to the infirmary after training.” Ben murmurs, because it hurts to talk loud and because he _was_ going to.

Amadeus scoffs. “And then you collapsed in the middle of relays.” 

There’s a moment where Ben goes to object before Connors waves and stops the conversation in it’s tracks. “Enough.” He says, shaking his head. “Ben, you need fluids and sleep, and spider-hero level flu meds.” Connors grumbles, shaking his head. “However, you’re not in that poor of shape, so I’m releasing you to your team.”

“What?” Ben says, and his voice squeaks a second before he winces. That had hurt. But was Connors, a doctor, actually going to give him, infected with a disease, to a group of teenagers?

Connors looks up at Flash, then Amadeus, then MJ. “I’m going to get some of the medicine for him. Take him back to his room, make sure he’s drinking lots of water, let him sleep. Keep an eye on him.”

“Got it.” Flash says with a nod and an ‘ok’ sign with his other hand.

Ben glares at Connors. “I am right here.” He says, but he supposes it’s less intimidating when he’s on an infirmary bed and talking in a tone barely above a whisper.

Connors wholly ignores him while packing up a bottle of something. Probably the aforementioned medicine. “Three of these every four hours.” He orders and hands the bottle to MJ, who is likely the most responsible person in the room. 

“Yes sir.” She says, militant, but with a smile. 

“I am still right here!” Ben calls, because he _is_ still right here, and would like a say in this.

Connors _continues_ to ignore him. “And try not to let him overheat.” He grumbles, handing a thermometer to Flash. “I have dealt with at least three cases of spider heatstroke. If he gets over one oh five point five, you bring him back in.” He states. 

Normally, Ben staring at someone means that the someone’s about to get hurt, but this time, nobody even _acknowledges_ him. He feels like he’s invisible, and it’s rather frustrating. Stunningly frustrating. 

“I am still-“ 

And then he breaks down coughing, and Connors sits him up carefully. The pain of hacking up a lung makes him doubt the initial diagnosis that he _isn’t_ degenerating. 

When he’s done, breathing heavily, Connors slides a cup of water into his field of view. He takes it and drinks as quickly as he can, but almost ends up coughing again. 

“Alright. If you can, find him non-caffeinated tea.” Connors says, and then the thin blanket is yanked off his legs and he’s being nudged to standing. “Up you go.”

He gets to his feet slowly, but then the world tips and he starts to slide to some direction and-

It’s Peter who pulls him back straight. He groans softly, right a second before Flash takes his other arm and pulls it over his shoulders. “Alright, c’mon man.” Flash chuckles, like Ben stumbling over his own two feet is _funny_. Like this isn’t the most _humiliating_ thing he’s ever done. 

Ben tries to say ‘fuck you’, but it comes out as, “F’ck y’.” He supposes it really punctuates this entire situation. 

He manages to mostly support his own weight while he walks, but the world keeps tipping, so he stays leaned on Flash. 

They’re only about halfway there when Ben realizes his fingers feel weirdly cold. Which is odd when he’s felt burning hot for the last few days. He writes it off again, but then remembers that writing things off is how he ended up collapsing the first time.

Ah, yes, the magic of hindsight. Also known as, fate being a dastardly bitch. 

The break room is less than twenty feet from Ben’s dorm room, but by the time they get there, that cold sensation has swept from his hands inward, and he’s reduced to full blown shivering. 

“Wh-what the _h-h-hell_?!” Ben hisses through chattering, because now this seems unfair. How did he go from burning hot to hypothermia? 

Wait, is this a change in symptoms? Is this a sign that he really is degenerating?

“Chills.” Miles says as Flash sits Ben down on the couch, and Ben has to fight the urge to curl into the tightest possible ball he can. He _really_ wants to though. “They’re not that fun.”

Another wave of cold goes through him, making his entire body cringe slightly, but he tries to stay sitting upright and proper. That doesn’t work because he starts coughing again, and coughs until he’s dizzy and glad that he’s sitting down.

At least until Peter brings out a blanket and lays it over Ben’s front, because Ben has no way of dodging this clear _attack_ on his dignity, how dare. 

“Where’s your water bottle?” MJ demands, pulling Ben away from where he was totally about to pan Peter. 

He turns toward her, and then opens his mouth to speak. All that comes out is a wheezing squeak like a broken toy. Immediately, Ben brings up his arm and coughs into his elbow a few times, but it’s a high-pitched, dry cough. Then he has to remember where he last had the damn water bottle. “...outside.” He whispers after a few seconds, but even that takes strain. “...by the grass track, against the wall.”

MJ nods and immediately hands the bottle of medicine to Peter with nothing more than a ‘hold this’, then walks out swiftly. He catches the edge of the Carnage Queen suit morphing around her ankle as she walks, and he realizes that MJ plans to be back in 15 seconds, property damage be damned. 

In the meantime, Miles scoots his way onto the couch, hugging Ben’s arm again, and while Ben thinks that this is starting to get ridiculous, the kid is warm. Gloriously, gloriously warm. 

So instead he manages to surreptitiously pull Miles right against his side, and then curls his knees into his chest under the blanket. It actually does make him feel a bit better, which is very good. God, so good. He wants to go back to sleep now.

And then a hand is thrust into his face, and he realizes that the hand carries a mug, and that he’s expected to take the mug. 

“This is what you people deal with?” Ben croaks at Amadeus, finally meeting his eyes, as he takes the mug. 

Amadeus shrugs. “Depends on what you mean by ‘this’.” He says with a light smile. “If ‘this’ is the flu, yes. If ‘this’ is most of the team clinging to you like worried mother hens, also yes. If ‘this’ is thinking that we’re degenerating and dying but still going to training, then no.”

Ben gets the impression that Amadeus is pissed at him, but then realizes, no, no, the kid’s just worried. He just isn’t showing it like say, Miles. 

Who has taken Ben’s subtle lean against him as a full blown excuse for a hug. So now Miles is a slightly squirmy heat pack. 

Great.

There’s a long pause where Amadeus stares at him like he’s going to burn a hole into his brain, so Ben tries desperately to scrape together what to do through the exhausted fog in his head. Does he defuse the situation with a sly smirk? Is this a flirt scenario? Should he punch Amadeus? 

Then the gaze flicks down and back up. 

Ben looks down at the tea, then back up at Amadeus. 

It _still_ takes him five seconds to blink and realize what to do. 

And oh, focusing on what to do no longer matters because that is the single best sensation ever. Whatever warm tea this is makes it feel like he can actually breathe again without it hurting. 

Amadeus is a fucking miracle worker. 

He takes another sip without hesitation, just as MJ stomps back into the room. She has half the Carnage suit on and Ben’s water bottle. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do anything crazy.” Peter begs as she takes the meds back from him. 

“I didn’t do anything crazy.” She says, with a completely straight face as she rinses and then refills the bottle. Ben doesn’t believe her whatsoever.

“Scoot.” Flash orders, and despite glaring, Ben is forced to shuffle over so that Flash can sit on the other side of him. But he does stop shivering completely when he is leaning on Flash, so he deals with it. 

His eyes slip closed again.

“Hey.” MJ says, and Ben pulls awake for the second time. He really wants to curse at her. Then she grabs his fingers and pulls his hand away from the mug of tea. “Here. Trust me, they’re not dangerous. They’re just what they give to the supers.” She states with a smile, as she puts three moderately-sized white circular pills in his palm.

Ben doesn’t like taking drugs. Comes with the territory of being a mad doctor’s experiment. He can safely say that being drugged is what he’s _actually_ afraid of.

But MJ is giving him a soft look, and it makes him feel super strange. Like everything is going to be alright and he has no choice but to believe her because she is telling him the perfect truth. 

So he takes the pills, and he does it without complaint. He washes them down with more tea, and MJ slips his water bottle into Miles’ grasp. Ben glares, but then realizes that he’s tucked his other hand back under the blanket and he has no way of holding onto the bottle. 

He sighs, leans a bit more on Flash - because if Flash wants to demand that Ben moves over, then he can deal with the consequences - and tunes out the voices that start up quietly in the background. 

Amadeus squishes into the couch on the other side of Miles, and Ben tries to hide the fact that he’s snuggling into the blanket when the TV turns on, because he’s tired and wants to stop feeling like shit. 

It’s just more than ten minutes through an episode of some TV show ( _Batman 100? Detroit 69? Brooklyn 99?_ ) and Ben feels _weird_.

His breathing hitches first, because he _knows_ it’s the meds kicking in, and he was really trying not to panic, but is now apparently, going to anyway. 

Damn... degeneration, flu, thing. He can’t hide shit quite as well. 

He knows he’s not hiding it well because Flash’s arm slides around his shoulders, and that gets him to freeze. 

“Ben, it’s... it’s ok, man.” Flash says, very, very quiet. 

And millimetre by millimetre, he relaxes. He can’t tell if it’s the drugs or if the thought of someone watching his back is what gets him to calm down, but it works. 

They go back to watching the TV, like nothing happened, and slowly, Ben finds himself slipping away. 

He doesn’t make it to the end of the episode before he feels someone neatly remove the mug from his limp hand, and he decides that sleeping, even with chemicals in his system, is probably safe with his team here. 

* * *

“Ben.” 

Nope. Nuh uh. Never. Fuck off. Sleeping. 

“Ben...” The person sing-songs. 

He makes a muffled grunt noise. Because he’s sleeping. Obviously. 

“You know, you’re a gigantic dick when you’re sick?” 

He pulls his head under the blanket. No. Sleeping. Fuck off. 

“Ben don’t suffocate yourself.” 

He pushes a bit and rolls over. 

And then realizes he’s horizontal. 

And then realizes he fell asleep mostly vertical.

And then realizes he has no idea where he is. 

That gets him to shoot upright, and then immediately regret it. 

“Whoa, the meds are wearing off. Don’t move too fast.” Peter says, a hand on Ben’s shoulder. 

His only response is a low groan, because now the world feels he’s got a horribly shitty sense of balance and he really wants to go back to sleep. 

“Meds.” Peter states, and places three more pills in his hand. 

“Again?” Ben mumbles because he thought they’d cure him, goddamnit.

The look Peter gives him is sympathetic, and Ben _barely_ resists the urge to punch him. “Every four hours, tough guy. We’re gonna have to wake you up a lot.”

“I... hate you.” Ben grinds out through a sore, sickening cough. 

“I figured.” Peter replies, sounding completely unfazed. Bastard. 

He takes the pills without objection, because he figures that the sooner he takes them, the sooner he can go back to sleep. He discovers that his assumption is almost correct, because the instant that he’s swallowed the meds, Peter pulls the blanket back over him properly and slides his water bottle into his hand. 

“Water first.”

Ben gripes and grumbles but swallows as much water as he can before it feels like he’s being stabbed in the neck. 

And then Peter nudges him back down to the bed, and Ben shuts his eyes without complaint. 

* * *

Two wake-up calls later, and Ben decides that the next person who wakes him up is going to get stabbed for their trouble. 

He’s just getting back to sleep after more medicine when he feels a hand land on his shoulder, and he unsheathes his stinger without even opening his eyes or moving his arm beyond that.

“Yeah yeah, like you can aim well enough to stab me.” Peter sighs, because they learned quickly how off-balance the drugs make Ben. Then Peter nudges him again. “Up. Soup.”

Ben retracts the stinger, pushes upright and _groans_. It’s a drawn noise, low and bitter, but he no longer is of the opinion that degeneration would be a preferable fate to sickness. 

Then again, he doesn’t remember too much of being sick for the last while, because he slept like the dead for the past... eight hours, interrupted once. 

Fortunately, the meds do work. Not an instant cure, certainly, but they do make him feel better. His headache is more or less gone, his throat feels better, and he doesn’t have to cough as much. 

So eating the soup that Peter’s brought is not that much of a hassle. It’s chicken broth and noodles, probably from a can, but it’s warm and Ben can’t taste much so he really doesn’t care whatsoever about how crap it probably is.

At least Peter looks pleased. 

So Ben finishes the soup and then sighs, sitting against the wall with his hands folded in his lap. Faintly, he rubs the blanket between two fingers before sighing. The world isn’t moving as fast anymore, but he is breathing clearly and despite how exhausted he is, he feels...

He feels _safe_.

Ben shuts his eyes. 

“Horizontal before you sleep.” Peter says with a chuckle, and Ben groans softly. After all, he’d like to just sit here, please. Enjoy just breathing. Stop ruining the fucking moment, Peter. 

And then he catches himself almost falling asleep, and he sighs as he slowly returns to laying flat. 

Peter pulls out his phone and settles into the chair next to Ben’s head, and Ben figures it out. The group knows that he’s bad with medicine, so apparently they ensured someone had been sitting with him. Last time he woke up it had been to Flash convincing him to take the meds. 

Now it was Peter. 

Hm.

Ben’s eyes slide shut, and he takes a deep breath before relaxing into the blankets. 

Safe is an unfamiliar feeling, but safe is one that Ben figures he could get used to.

**Author's Note:**

> We need more Ben and Web Warriors team fanfiction thank u.


End file.
